


Someone Else's

by EvilAxolotl



Category: Fantastic Four, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, implied Peter/MJ/Johnny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21646765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilAxolotl/pseuds/EvilAxolotl
Summary: “You’re cheesy,” Peter said, kissing him. “And stupid. But god are you pretty.”“Flatterer,” Johnny accused, knowing well that Peter was over the moon for him. At least Peter hoped he did. “Wanna fool around?”“Is the sky blue?” Peter shot back, joy and desire both bright and big in his chest.Johnny looked at him consideringly. “Dunno. Your big head’s in the way.”
Relationships: Peter Parker/Johnny Storm, Peter Parker/Johnny Storm/Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Someone Else's

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an AU where Peter got bit, but Johnny didn't get all flamed on until much later. 
> 
> I haven't written and posted fanfic in a good long while, but I felt inspired. Posting this without editing at all because I'm the most tired.

Dappled sunlight played across golden blonde hair, making a stark contrast against the deep green grass in the forest clearing. It was like the light existed just to illuminate the beautiful man laying there, smiling wryly.

“Can I get up yet?” Johnny asked, looking up at Peter with fond exasperation. Peter snapped a shot, capturing his expression on film. “Seriously, Pete. My hair’s getting dirty.”

“A true tragedy,” Peter deadpanned, crouching to catch the beautiful cut of Johnny’s cheekbones from a different angle. “I can see the headlines already! Johnny Storm, Teen Heartthrob Gets Blade of Grass in Hair! Stop the presses, this is the scoop of the century.”

Peter caught his laugh on camera, smiling himself as he did.

“Aww. You think I’m still a teen,” he said, “How flattering.”

“You’re nineteen,” Peter said, emphasizing the end of the word. “Last time I checked that was still in your teens.” Peter grinned, already knowing exactly the comeback Johnny would have to that.

“Right, so that makes you a dirty old man at twenty then?” He rolled his eyes. “Gosh, you’re so old”

Peter shuffled himself above Johnny’s head to place his camera on top of his backpack, then turned back to him. “Respect your elders,” he chided as he leaned in, kissing him upside down.

“Make me,” he teased, and it was too cheesy, too stupid, but damn it did it ever work on Peter every time.

He kissed him again, and again, then re-positioned himself so that he was hovering over the beautiful man lying in the grass, held up on his arms so he could look his fill. Johnny reached for his wrist, twirling the strings of the ratty old friendship bracelet he’d made for Peter back when they were both fifteen. The year he’d gotten bit. By the spider, and by whatever the hell kind of love bug Johnny had introduced into his life.

“You’re cheesy,” Peter said, kissing him. “And stupid. But god are you pretty.”

“Flatterer,” Johnny accused, knowing well that Peter was over the moon for him. At least Peter hoped he did. “Wanna fool around?”

“Is the sky blue?” Peter shot back, joy and desire both bright and big in his chest. 

Johnny looked at him consideringly. “Dunno. Your big head’s in the way.”

Peter shook his head in faux exasperation, carding his fingers through Johnny’s hair. “This attitude right here is why I don’t do celebrity photography. The talent is so rude.”

Johnny didn’t reply, probably knowing by now that once he got Peter on a roll it was hard to make him stop. Instead, he diffused the situation by sliding his hands under Peter’s shirt, then down the waistband of his pants. 

Peter was incredibly on board with this development. 

……….

Dappled sunlight played across golden blonde hair, making a stark contrast against the deep green grass in the forest clearing. Peter sighed, pretty certain that this perfect lighting was wasted on the golden retriever sitting there licking its unmentionables.

“I don’t care if it’s the wrong dog! Get the shot, Parker,” J Jonah Jameson bellowed down the phone at him, each word clear as day even with the phone held a few inches away from his ear.

“Okay, but this is a male full sized golden retriever,” Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the dog stood and trotted over to pee on a tree. “The movie is about a female mini golden.”

“Who cares! Get the pictures, and make them good or you’re fired!” 

The line went dead and Peter groaned. If Jonah had fired him as many times as he’d threatened, maybe he’d be happier. He’d certainly have more time to work on his grad thesis. 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” the unlucky woman who owned the imposter movie star dog said. “The lady on the phone said this was for a follow up on that piece on dog parks that was in the paper a few weeks ago.”

Peter gave her a sympathetic look. Poor Betty, he could just imagine her at the office with Jonah breathing over her shoulder as she made the call. She hated lying, but Peter knew well that with J.J.J. you had to pick your battles.

“No, no, it’s okay. We can still get some good pictures. Thank you for coming out,” he said, smiling graciously. “We just have to get a bit creative.”

The dog trotted over to Peter and demanded pets, which were given with gusto. “Hello, yes, you’re a good boy, aren’t you Jasper?” He said smiling when he flipped onto his back, a clear request for belly rubs. “How do you feel about doing a photoshoot in drag?”

Three hours, innumerable pets, and many creatively staged shots later, Peter arrived home, exhausted. He had another hour or so of editing to do before he could relax, and he was covered in dirt and dog hair. 

And there, on his couch, sat the most beautiful woman in the world. 

“Heya, Tiger,” she said, low and pleased. Like she’d been waiting for him. 

He blinked, then blinked again when he noticed the sheer silk robe she was wearing. 

“Tell me you didn’t take the subway in that outfit,” he said, placing his camera bag down by the door. Stupid mouth, running on autopilot. 

Thankfully, Mary Jane just laughed, a real honest not for the public laugh. It lit him up from the inside. 

“No,” she said, crooking her finger to beckon him forward. And, like he was attached by a string, he moved towards her without a second thought. “I took a Pedicab. Wanted a bit of a breeze.”

Whatever Peter was about to respond with died on his tongue as she let the robe slide down, teasing him with the thinnest line of skin, just so he knew she was naked underneath. 

It took a moment for him to untangle his tongue and moisten his mouth before he could speak. “Lucky New York,” he said, not pausing his forward motion until he had her beneath him, his knees on either side of her thighs. “Luckier me.” 

She smiled at him, lips so close. He was a strong man, sure, but it’d take a lot stronger to resist kissing Mary Jane Watson when she was looking at him like that.

They kissed with an easy familiarity, that built quickly into something hot and rushed and excited. She’d been here, in his apartment. Used the key he’d given here to sneak in and wait for him, dressed like the model she was. How could anyone blame him for getting excited?

“Wanna get luckier?” she asked him, grinning winsomely. He groaned, pressing their foreheads together. 

“You are so cheesy,” he said, the pot calling the kettle black. “So so cheesy. Like, full cheese board at a fancy party cheesy.”

She just kept on smiling at him, reaching down to grab his butt. 

“Is that a no?” she asked, sweet and decidedly not innocent. She punctuated it with a hearty squeeze. 

“Well, I really should edit those dog pictures…” Peter trailed off, tone insincere and smile teasing. Then he was laughing as MJ gave his ass a swat. “Miss Watson, have I ever been able to say no to you?”

Mary Jane didn’t have to answer that. She already knew. 

And if they didn’t make it further than to lay themselves out across the couch, well. That was their business and no one else's.  
……….

“I love you,” Johnny had said.

They’d been laying in a field. On a camping trip. It was a weekend, Peter remembered. The stars had been brilliantly bright in the sky.

“I love you,” he’d said again, not looking for an answer. He was just saying it to say it. Peter had been so full of love he could have burst.

“I love you too,” he’d said. He’d meant. God he loved Johnny so much. 

They’d been holding hands, Peter remembers. Holding hands and looking up at the stars.

“I’ll be up there someday,” Johnny said. “Sue and Reed are working on it. I’ll be up there in the stars.”

“Fitting,” Peter had told him. “Since you’re also a big ball of gas.”

The thing about Johnny was that he kept his word. So Peter wasn’t at all surprised when Johnny and his family did, in fact, make it to the stars.

The problem was that they never returned.

At least, not when they should have.

……….  
Peter was going through his things, packing. His apartment was, admittedly, a horrible little thing. With mold in the shower that just wouldn’t scrub off, even with super strength, and floors that shrieked in protest whenever he walked on them. 

He was going to miss it terribly.

But really? He was so excited he could cry. He was marrying the love of his life. Nothing could compare. 

Mary Jane had asked him to marry her, and then he’d asked her back in retaliation. Mostly because he wanted an excuse to treat her to the fanciest date he could afford, and not at all because he wanted to make her cry ugly tears in public the way she’d done to him. (It worked, but her tears had been cute. And she’d smacked him in the arm for being such an idiot. Worth it.) 

So he was going through his things, emptying the drawer of his bedside table when he found it.

The colourful weave of string, dirtied from age, was sitting beneath a playbill for some musical he’d hated that MJ had adored. It was just, there. Accusing him. 

Which was unfair. It was Johnny who’d left, not him. 

He picked up the friendship bracelet with trembling hands, turning it over in his fingers. A ‘more than friendship bracelet’ they’d started to call it out loud. His ‘I love you bracelet’ as he’d called it in the privacy of his own head.

God.

Just holding it felt raw, like he could cry just from touching some old embroidery thread. Like his heart could break for the millionth time just from this innocuous little bracelet that had laid buried beside him all these years.

When Mary Jane walked into the room he was tempted to shove it under the mattress like a teen getting caught with porn.

He ignored that particular bad instinct, and stayed still.

“I will not miss that horrible shower,” she was saying, as Peter stared at her with wide eyes, the bracelet cradled in his open palm.

“Sweetheart?” MJ said, cottoning on to the mood of the room. “Are you alright? What’s that?”

Peter looked down at it. “A bracelet,” he said, his voice smaller than he’d expected it to be. 

Mary Jane sat on the bed with him, tucking herself up against his body. She waited, quiet and patient for him. It was one of the many things he loved her for. This patience with him that so many others couldn’t muster.

“A friendship bracelet,” he managed to go on, wetly. Oh good. He was crying. “From a guy I knew back when I was a kid.”

“Oh sweetie,” Mary Jane said, her voice full of understanding. “You were in love with him.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact. 

“I- i mean, yeah. Yeah I guess I was,” he said, then realized that this wasn’t entirely the best conversation to have with the woman he loved. What is she thought he was still carrying a torch?! (Hah. Torch.) “But not anymore! I swear! I haven’t even seen him in five years so-“

“Tiger,” Mary Jane said seriously. “There’s enough room in one heart for more than just one person. It’s okay.”

Peter sobbed. He fell into her arms like a child and sobbed out all the grief he’d let build up over the years. The grief of Johnny’s death. The grief of his return. It all came pouring out onto MJ’s lap.

And Mary Jane, bless her, gathered it up for him and smoothed out the edges, until it was less raw in his chest. Until it was a dull ache, rather than a sharp pain.

“Thank you,” he said, kissing her. His eyes were still wet. “I love you.”

So MJ knew. Which was good. And she didn’t pry

If he neglected to mention that his past flame was famous socialite (socialete? After a quick google he found out that the term was non-gender specific which was nice to know. But it did offer him the word ‘man about town’ as a synonym. Which sounded stupid, and was therefore perfect for Johnny) Johnny Storm? Well, that was alright. He didn’t have to disclose everything. At least not all at once.

……….

Johnny Storm always kept his word. So when he and his family returned from space four years after they’d disappeared, it shouldn’t have surprised Peter one bit.

But it did.

It did, and Peter wasn’t sure what to do with himself at the news. 

So he waited.

He waited as Peter. He tried to approach him as Spider-Man. He tried his damndest. 

But Johnny, for the first time, broke his word.

“I’ll come back to you, idiot. Your stupid face will be the first face I look for, mask or no mask.”

So Peter gave up. The man who never gave up let himself have this one. Because chasing after a star was an impossible thing, and he was so bone-tired from having his heart burned up in the flames.

And he had MJ. Perfect, beautiful MJ, who he was over the moon for. 

They’d already been engaged when Johnny returned. Not that he’d have left her. The thought was unfathomable. She was his life. 

It was just a shame. He hoped that in some other universe they’d gotten it right. That Johnny hadn’t disappeared. That they were in love.

He wanted the best for that universe. 

But he’d keep the one he was in, and he’d keep it close to his heart. 

……….

“If we don’t have a Stag and Doe, I’ll die,” Mary Jane told him seriously. So very seriously. Definitely no twitch at the corners of her mouth. No sir.

“A strange affliction,” Peter responded, squinting at the pile of odd socks on the dresser. Where in the world was his other sock with the little spider-man faces on it? And how the hell was he supposed to find anything in the veritable mountains of socks, super powers or no. “You should see a doctor about that.”

“Peter, I’m serious,” she said plainly, moving between him and mount sockerest. “It’ll be my socialite death. I’ll be a laughing stock in the business. I’ll never book a movie again.”

Very serious. Not at all already losing it and smiling. That beautiful smile that always threatened to break into a fit of giggles.

“Hollywood is vicious,” he said. “Such high standards for actresses.”

“Peter,” she said, her tone edged in laughter now. “Be serious. A Stag and Doe will be fun, I promise”

“No, nope, no way,” he said. Then, “I’ll die. I have a very serious condition.”

Mary Jane pressed her forehead against his and laughed. “You sure do, Tiger.”

Peter wanted to be offended. He was offended. But she was so close and just so kissable. So he kissed her… in offence. 

“It’ll just be a small affair,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

Peter snorted. “Right, just you, me, and a couple thousand industry people.” 

MJ swatted nipped his nose. “Yes, exactly.”

“No,” Peter said. Then sang out, “No no no no.”

Mary Jane smiled, the smile of a woman who knew she was winning. 

“So you’ll help me plan it?”

Peter sighed, defeated. He was only so strong, and with his arms around her waist and her perfume just absolutely destroying his ability to formulate arguments, well. “Of course I will,” he said. “But you’ll hate all of my ideas and hire a party planner anyways.”

“I sure will, Tiger,” she said simply, and kissed him silent.

As far as ways to lose a battle went, this one wasn’t so bad.

……….  
Johnny was on the guest list.

Peter hadn’t known Johnny was on the guest list. He’d absconded from party planning as quickly as Mary Jane had allowed him to. Before the guest list part.

He’d invited Harry and Aunt May. A few other friends.

He hadn’t invited Johnny Storm.

“I invited him,” Mary Jane said, twinkling in her dress. It was blue, splashed across with sparkles, like a living night sky. She was resplendent. She was busy. “Once second sweetheart, I have to go greet the woman in the red dress. Sarah’s a director.”

She’d flitted off.

Peter had stayed, stuck to the floor. Possibly literally, he wasn’t sure.  
All he was sure of was that Johnny was here, and he was beautiful. God, he was so so beautiful.

His hair was shorter than he used to keep it, but looked just as touchably soft, and his suit was so perfectly tailored that Peter was having trouble breathing. Black like the darkest night. Black like space. Where he’d lost him.

It wasn’t fair. 

Peter was going to be sick. He needed to run. To hide away.

Johnny looked at him.

He couldn’t move.  
……….

“Just move,” Johnny sighed at him, exasperated. “It’s not that hard. Here. Like this.”

He’d moved his hips in some sort of complicated way that had left Peter breathless and annoyed all at once. So like Johnny, to make him feel mixed up like that.

Peter growled in frustration. “I’m trying! This is hopeless.” 

Johnny had rolled his eyes at him. “Shut up and come here,” he demanded.

Prom was fast approaching, and Johnny had refused to accept that his date didn’t know how to dance. Peter had been more than happy to just wallflower it up, but no. Johnny had decided to teach him to dance.

Warm hands on his hips. A warmer body pressed against his. A gentle swaying motion, as the music played. 

“Like this,” Johnny said lowly, right next to his ear. Peter shivered, certain that Johnny had felt it. 

Hands guiding his hips into motion. Lips against the shell of his ear. 

“Move like Spider-Man, Pete. I’ve seen you damn near dance on TV before. Just loosen up.”

Easy for Johnny to say when all he was doing was making Peter stiff in places that didn’t need to be stiff for dancing.

They hadn’t done much more dancing after that. Peter had been a disaster at prom, but Johnny had forgiven him.

……….

Dancing with Johnny was like dancing with a memory. 

“Peter,” he’d said. Just his name, and Peter had felt nearly destroyed by it. So he’d done the logical thing.

“Dance with me,” he said, before Johnny could open his stupid beautiful mouth and say anything more. “Please.”

And so they did. This time Peter was more confident. Hell, he was actually better than Johnny now. The difference between being lost in space for years and having a fiance as determined as MJ, who had enough disposable income for multiple dance teachers.

“You,” Peter started, then lost his words. They were pressed together, so close. Johnny’s body was hot in a way it never had been before. Hot like the way his lips had felt against Peter’s neck all those years ago, the first time they’d danced together. 

“Me,” Johnny agreed, lips quirking up into a smile. His eyes were the same, yet so very different. Tired. Like a man who’d been worn down by the universe. Literally. 

“You never called,” Peter said, feeling like a jealous lover in a Hallmark movie. 

Johnny closed his eyes. His chest was blazing, blazing, blazing away, pressed so firm and real against Peter’s own. 

“I’m sorry, Pete,” he said. “You had this. And I had…”

“What?”

“PTSD,” Johnny laughed, humourlessly. “I know now, what you went through as the other guy. What you still go through.”

“Then you should have come to me,” Peter said, angry now. What a time to go through the phases of mourning. “I would have understood. I could have helped you.”

“You’re getting married,” Johnny reminded him, as though he needed reminding. His eyes were still closed, long lashes fanning out. Peter wanted to kiss his eyelids. Peter wanted to punch him. “I couldn’t trust myself.” 

God.

Peter leaned his head on Johnny’s shoulder, holding him tightly. He’d abandoned trying to dance now. Just let himself sway, holding Johnny close and crying. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much, Johnny.” 

Even Johnny’s hair was hot where it brushed against Peter’s cheek. 

“Well,” Mary Jane said, making them both jump. “It looks like I don’t need to introduce you to Johnny Storm.”

……….

Back at home, Mary Jane sat laughing with Johnny at the dining room table, while Peter poured them all coffee.

MJ had changed into a pair of pajamas, the ones with the little pink Spider-Man hearts decorating the pants. Johnny had shucked off his jacket the moment they’d left the party, and his tie hung loosely around his neck.

They were beautiful. 

Peter figured this was what the press would have imagined when MJ announced her engagement. Two perfect, gorgeous celebrities, so happy they almost glowed with it.

“Peter, sweetheart,” MJ’s voice snapped him out of it. “Can you stop overthinking for a moment and bring us our drinks?” She sounded so fondly amused. And in love. 

With him.

It still took his breath away.

He couldn’t help the soft smile that bloomed on his face as he responded, “Sorry dearest, just poisoning your drinks.” He gathered their cups, bringing them over. “I can’t wait for all that sweet sweet combined inheritance.”

“Pretty presumptuous, isn’t he?” Johnny said, raising his brow. “What makes you think you’re in my will?”

“Or mine,” MJ added with an absolute shit eating grin. The traitor.

“I’m wounded. You wound me! My own-“ he stuttered for a moment, not sure what to say. “Loved ones, sitting here in my kitchen, breaking my heart.”

Mary Jane beamed at him. “Johnny,” she said, leaning against him. “You should stay the night.”  
A thrill worked its way through Peter. Surely she didn’t mean…

“To talk,” MJ said with a pointed look at Peter. “At least at first.” 

Peter took a shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Please stay.”

Johnny looked between them. At Peter’s pleading expression and Mary Jane’s serious but serene half-smile. 

“Okay,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “Okay, I’ll stay.” 

end


End file.
